


Beware the Patient Woman

by deathhaul



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Lives, Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Murder Family, Past Character Death, Scar Kissing, abigail is smarter than everyone else, hel writes season four? na hel WROTE season four, implied/hinted at sex life, mentions of cannibalism, my idea of hannibal season four, nothing explicit though, sometimes cpr is your first kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25924744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathhaul/pseuds/deathhaul
Summary: Will's eyes flutter over Hannibal's body, taking in his soaking features. Hannibal looks like a god. Hair sticking to his face in a way that still manages to be beautiful, sleeves hastily bunched around his elbows that show off the arms that just saved Will from the afterlife, the arms that took him from Abigail.Will and Hannibal survive the fall, Abigail survives Hannibal's kitchen. After learning about their disappearance she is determined to find them,  for better or for worse.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, will/molly (mentioned)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the song 'a little wicked' by valerie broussard.  
> some of you have seen sections of this fic before if you follow my tumblr @horrorlesbians, but I hope you still enjoy it!

Will stands on the rocky shore, the water violently licking the rocks by his feet. He stares out over the black water; it’s churning and angry, almost as if it demands him to step back inside it. Another dominant force waiting to swallow him whole. He is soaking wet, faint blood stains present on the white shirt that clings to his skin. Lifting his chin up a little and closing his eyes, he inhales the scent of water and blood. He can feel eyes on him but not the eyes he expects, the gaze soft and warm. Will turns to look behind him and there stands Abigail. Her long dark brown hair waves in the breeze and she is so grown up, it moves Will to tears. He steps closer to her. She looks ethereal and if Will could see himself he would realize he looks the same way too. He swallows down the sourness of tears and pulls her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She’s cold, not from the breeze or his wet arms; her soul is cold. She hugs him back and smiles.

“You have to leave, Dad.” Abigail says softly. Will pulls away from her, furrowing his brow. He can’t help the tears that fall no matter how hard he tries to swallow them down. Her smile lingers as he shakes his head. He wants to stay with her. “This isn’t our place. You’ll see me again.” Abigail is growing distant, the fog threatens to engulf her. No matter how close Will gets to her she feels further and further away- he can’t lose her again.

“Why?” Is all he can muster with his weak voice.

"This isn’t our time,” she says matter of factly. Will reaches out and manages to take hold of Abigail's hand, determined to keep her tethered to him. The sound of a rhythmic pulse echoes in Will’s eardrums along with the waves. The sound isn’t his heartbeat. Abigail runs her thumb over Will’s hand softly, then falls through his grip like water. “This isn’t your time.” She offers him one final smile, before her palm hits hard onto Will’s chest.

Interlocking fingers, one hand on top of the other, forcefully press down onto Will’s bare chest that is exposed by his hastily ripped open shirt. The sound of flesh hitting flesh rhythmically joins the crashing waves to form a melody. Hannibal is on his knees beside Will, leaning over his body, counting the chest compressions. His clothes are soaking wet and his hair is plastered to his face. His arms shake; from the attack, from hitting the water, from pulling Wills body from the wake and dragging him to shore. They hurt from the CPR, it’s been too long. Will should be awake by now.

“Stay with me,” Hannibal mutters, moving down over Will. He clasps his hand over Will’s wound, tilting his head back to give him two CPR breaths. This isn’t how he wanted their lips to meet for the first time- it may be simultaneously the first and last time. He pulls away from Will’s mouth to start another round of compressions when Will sputters awake. Hannibal jerks his head down to meet Wills eyes that weakly flutter open and guides the back of his head so he can cough the water out.

“Breathe Will, breathe. Deep breaths.” Hannibal's voice pulls Will back to reality and he does as he says, sucking in air as calmly as he can. Will’s eyes slip close again as Hannibal moves him against a nearby rock. Tears of relief trail down Hannibal’s cheeks, joining the water on his face as Will opens his eyes. He rubs a hand across his bare chest, raw and red from Hannibal's hands, soft and soothed from Abigail's hand. Hannibal presses his fingers to Wills neck, taking his pulse. Will watches Hannibal weakly; he can’t remember what happened after they hit the water, he can’t remember how long he has been out for. But he can see raging concern below the surface of Hannibal’s face, a look Will hasn’t seen before. The look of a man who finally had something go beyond his control. Hannibal cups the uninjured side of Will’s face with his throbbing hand and Will leans his head into the touch.

“I thought I lost you,” Hannibal says softly, his words laced with an unheard sadness. Will's eyes flutter over Hannibal's body, taking in his soaking features. Hannibal looks like a god. Hair sticking to his face in a way that still manages to be beautiful, sleeves hastily bunched around his elbows that show off the arms that just saved Will from the afterlife, the arms that took him from Abigail. His eyes are still red with divine desperation. Will’s never seen him like this, the desperation of being robbed of someone he couldn’t save.

Deep down Will knew Hannibal would not have stopped CPR, even if Will was beyond saving. Hannibal would have beat his hands into his chest until his ribs snapped, until they punctured his lungs; he would have brutally beaten him trying to bring him back.

“This wasn’t my time.” Will murmurs as his eyes meet Hannibal’s intense gaze, prompting a soft smile from him.

“We must get moving.” Hannibal helps Will to his feet and positions himself to scoop him up into his arms, like when he rescued him from death the first time.

“No, I can walk, you’re hurt.” Will protests but his words go ignored and Hannibal picks him up.

“You are hurt far worse than I am,” He says as he holds Will in his arms. Will doesn't believe his statement, but he knows Hannibal would still carry him even if Hannibal was hurt worse. “And besides, you are quite light. Once we settle somewhere safe I must make you a decent meal.” Will chuckles weakly, resting his head against Hannibal's chest for the second time that night. Hannibal's heartbeat drowns out the waves as he carries Will across the shore.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack sits in his FBI office looking over the crime scene photos from the cliffside murder, the last known location of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose as he flips through them. Forensics found both Will and Hannibal’s blood at the scene and was currently trying to decide how critical their conditions are. They had combed the surrounding area for bodies and were starting the process of dredging the water, having discovered nothing so far. He pulls out the photo showing the shattered wine bottle with broken window glass around it, _Hannibal figured they had enough time for a drink, _Jack ponders.__ Hannibal's prison jumpsuit and the cop car were left behind.

“They couldn’t last on foot and there wasn’t any blood trail leading away.” Jack says to himself before sighing one more time and dropping the photos onto his desk. Muscle memory wants him to scoop the photos up and hand them to Will, _what do you see?_ Will isn’t there to see. Jack slides the photos into an envelope and gets up, putting his coat on and tucking the envelope under his arm. “I need another set of eyes.”

A nurse at the front desk shuffles through the photos, grimacing when she sees Francis’s dead body. She simply shakes her head as she slides the photos into the envelope and hands them back to Jack.

“Are you sure the pictures are necessary?” Another nurse asks, leading him down the hallway he has been down numerous times before.

“I’m afraid so,” Jack states, pretending like he hasn’t been smuggling them in this whole time. “They are needed to clearly see the full picture.” He looks at the apprehensive look on her face as she leads him to the door. “I lost the person who normally helps me with cases like this, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t a last resort.” The nurse pauses and flips through her paperwork.

“You visit quite regularly, Mr. Crawford.” Jack nods and reaches for the doorknob once it is unlocked.

“Not like this.” The nurse turns and heads back down the hallway as Jack lets himself into the room, closing the door behind him. He slides his coat off and holds it in his arms as he watches the figure sitting at the table lower their book and look over at him with a smile.

“Hello, Abigail.” She saves her page and sets the book aside as Jack walks over. He drapes his coat over the back of the chair before sitting down. Abigail eyes the dull yellow envelope he’s holding curiously and goes to slide it over to her when he sets it down. Jack places a hand on top of hers, he’s gone to her for help with crime scenes before, but this is different.

“You know I can handle it,” Abigail says. “Is it a bloodbath?”

“In a way,” Jack says before meeting her eye contact. “Abigail, this one is going to hit close to home.”

“Did they finally find one of my Dad’s victims?” She asks, furrowing her brow with confusion. “I assumed all you’d ever find is hair.”

“That wasn’t the home I’m referring to.” Abigail’s face shifts into slight horror before her eyes land on the envelope again.

“Who’s in here?” She asks softly.

“Not anyone you know.” There is a sigh of relief that exits Abigail as Jack opens the envelope and holds the pictures in his hands. “But Will and Hannibal were involved. This is their last known location.” He hands the photos over to Abigail, watching her quickly shuffle through them. “We found Will and Hannibal’s blood at the scene, their bodies have not been recovered yet.”

“You think they’re dead? Both of them?” Abigail quickly meets Jack’s gaze, her eyes growing glossy.

“It’s a possibility. A decent amount of blood was lost, but not enough to cause death.” Abigail nods and returns her gaze to the pictures, flipping through them before pausing on one image. Recognition flashes in her eyes then followed quickly by nostalgia.

“Abigail? Tell me what you see.”

“I’ve been here before.” Her voice soft as she looks at the picture showing the interior of the house, the one of the blood by the piano. Jack watches tears build in her eyes as she turns around the photo to show him. “He taught me how to play here. That’s why he didn’t take any of my fingers, he wanted to teach me how to play.”

“So the house is Hannibal’s?”

“Maybe not on paper but I stayed here, he’d visit often and cook for me.”

“This is where he held you when he faked your death.” Abigail nods and returns back to the pictures. She laid some out on the table and Jack watches as her eyes dart across them, trying to pick up the details. In moments like this she reminds Jack so much of Will, he can't help but wonder if Will would like knowing Abigail shares a form of his imagination.“I don’t expect you to have any insights tonight. I knew that I couldn’t tell you they went missing without photos.” Her gaze flicks up from the photos and stares him down.

“What insight are you hoping I can have?” Abigail straightens up in her chair and looks at him defiantly. “You’re hoping I can find them, aren’t you?”

“I was hoping for any insight into this case. One of the FBI’s most wanted is missing and he has taken one of- no, my smartest mind with him. Hannibal is dangerous enough on his own, but together they are a whole other monster.” Jack gestures to the picture of Francis, his blood pooled around him to resemble wings. “I want to find them before anyone else gets hurt. Before they hurt each other.”

  
“You know what happens when you use someone close to Hannibal to bring him down.” She grasps at the scarf around her neck and pulls it away, revealing a thick red scar that overpowers her fainter, smaller scar. “We both hold enough proof of what Hannibal does when he’s betrayed. I died to bring down my Dad, I died for Hannibal to bring down Will, I died as a response to Will trying to bring Hannibal down. I’ve died enough in effort to bring down my dads, I won’t do it again. Jack, I can’t.” Tears start to fall down her face, surprising herself more than Jack and she quickly wipes them away.

“Do I believe that you are the best person to find them? Of course. But I’m not desperate enough to do that again.” Jack offers her a tissue from the box on the windowsill and Abigail takes it as she fixes her scarf. “Do you have any idea where they could be?” Abigail shakes her head and Jack chuckles softly, prompting a curious look from Abigail. “Just thinking about something Will told me about catching Hannibal. That it’s hard to catch a fish twice, I can’t imagine how hard it will be to catch him a third time.” Abigail smiles a little at him. “He said you need to convince a fish to bite even when it isn’t hungry.” Jack stands and starts to collect the photos, sliding them back into the envelope. “I should be heading back.”

“You can’t leave them?” Abigail stands as well as he puts on his coat.

“The nurse needs to see them before I leave.” Abigail sighs and nods, this was the first time Jack had been truthful about the photos he was showing her. Jack then slides his hand into his coat pocket and pulls out a second envelope, handing it to her. “Keep them hidden.” Abigail smiles at him and walks over to hide them inside her pillowcase and then flip it over.

“Thank you, Jack.” He nods and walks to the door.

“I wish I could have seen you with better news today.” Abigail nods and her fingers play with the end of her scarf.

“Me too.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Will, lay down. Please.” Will stands in the small bedroom doorway of a summer cabin they stumbled upon, Hannibal looks over at him. “You will rip your stitches.” Hannibal sets down the book he had been reading and strides over to Will, gently leading him back into the bedroom. Will follows Hannibal’s guidance until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed he had woken up in. 

Will can foggily remember what happened once they arrived inside the cabin. Hannibal peeling his wet clothes from his body, leaving the cold air to slice at his skin. The sharp sting of a needle over and over into his flesh, pulling his wounds closed, and the ripping sound of bandages. The dragging touch of Hannibal’s fingers against his cold skin cut like a red hot knife; even his tender touches felt like being cut open. Hannibal’s face was blurry and out of focus as Will slipped in and out of consciousness, the dimming sunlight glowing behind him made him resemble an angel. 

He remembered Hannibal wrapping him in a towel when it was all over, holding his body gently against his own. Hannibal’s surprisingly warm body heat had melted into Will’s chilled bones and had slipped him to sleep. He assumes Hannibal then dressed him in the lounge pants he was currently wearing and laid him in the bed, a set of movements Hannibal must have been quite good at by now. Will keeps his eyes on Hannibal as the other man studies his shirtless body, checking for torn stitches or spilling blood. Both men were dressed in clothes Hannibal had found inside the cabin while their soaked clothes were laid out to dry. 

“I was just getting some water.” Will says as Hannibal gently moves his head to the side to look at his patched wound. Hannibal then leaves the room without a word and Will can hear the tap running from the kitchen, he groans softly running a hand over his forehead. The pain of everything his body went through was rushing back to him and his mind was pulsing wickedly. When he lifts his head he can see Hannibal standing in the doorway, looking utterly human in a plain white shirt and black sweatpants.

“I can give you more medicine for the pain, if you would like.” Hannibal says as he walks over to Will with a glass of water. 

“When did you give me pain meds?” Hannibal doesn’t respond. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.” Will reaches for the glass but Hannibal pulls it out of his reach, crouching before him so their eyes are level. Hannibal slides a hand under Will’s chin to tip his head back slightly, his hand then moving to support the base of his neck. Will closes his eyes when he feels the cold glass meet his lips, swallowing down the water his body was desperately begging for. Will opens his eyes when he no longer feels the glass and instead feels the hand that had been at the base of his neck now cradling his jawline. “Thank you.” Will repeats, succumbing to Hannibal’s desire to nurse him back to health should have been something Will fought a little harder. Staring into Hannibal’s eyes he couldn’t help but realize how good it feels to be taken care of this intently, this intimately.

“You need your rest, Will.” Hannibal’s hand doesn’t leave the unharmed side of his face and Will leans into the touch- both out of habit and due to the sudden heaviness of his head. “Your body went through a severe amount of trauma, it needs time to recover.” Before Will could fully register Hannibal’s movements he was guided to lay on the bed and was being covered with a thin sheet. 

“So did yours.” Hannibal stands beside the bed, making no effort to join Will. Will looks through the doorway to the worn couch in the living room, never in his life imagining Hannibal would willingly sleep on a couch. But the Hannibal standing beside him was a version of him he hadn’t seen before, at least not this fully, his mask almost fully removed. “You won’t get any rest on that couch.” Will winces as he shifts over to one side of the bed, leaving the other empty beside him. “You gave me mouth to mouth earlier, I really doubt sleeping together in the same bed is going to cross a line.” 

Hannibal smiles softly before closing the bedroom door and walking over to join him on the bed. He slides his shirt off before laying down beside Will, looking over at him as he pulls the sheets around his waist. 

“Tonight we will rest but tomorrow we must keep moving, if our wounds allow us.” Will turns his head to look at Hannibal, knowing that when Hannibal said ‘us’ he was only referring to Will. He contemplates asking Hannibal where they were heading to, but it doesn’t really matter. He knows Hannibal will get them somewhere safe. Will let his eyes close, Hannibal’s watchful gaze lulling him to serenity. Once you have arguably the most dangerous man in American tenderly caring for your wounds, laying beside you and watching over you as you sleep- nothing else can feel remotely scary.


	4. Chapter 4

Abigail stands in the middle of her rehabilitation room, the crime scene pictures spread out across the tile floor. Moonlight streams in through the locked windows and she twists the end of her scarf around her fingertips. She had done her best to spread them out to mirror the crime scene, the wide angle photo of the full area providing enough information for her to do so. She is standing by the photo of the shattered glass and wine bottle inside the house, the blood and wine mixed to form a thin red coating on the floor. 

“Hannibal wouldn’t let Will serve him wine,” She mutters. “He was the one shot.” She walks around the pictures, following the blood trail. Abigail has trouble making their violence clear in her brain, everything she is imaging is both blurry and static. One thing was clear to her even through the uncertainty; Will and Hannibal had worked together to bring him down. Some bloodstain patterns seem hasty and desperate; one body moving to protect the other. Some bloodstain patterns seem fluid and steady; two minds conjoined to bring down a common enemy. It was a dance of two who had never danced before- their first moves anxious, stepping on the others toes. But when the rhyme set in and they allowed themselves to both follow and lead it became a beautiful display of connection. Abigail knows for certain it’s their first time killing together in this way, as a display of affection for the other. 

Abigail walks away from the story the blood patterns painted, she had read all the words visible to her. She stands by the picture of the cliffside, focusing on the large bloodstain, as if two people were standing beside each other. Was it runoff blood from the man they slaughtered? Blood from one or both of their wounds that were inflicted during the struggle?  _ It must be a combination _ , she thinks as she stares transfixed. Will and Hannibal would be fully bonded through their blood, one’s blood seeping into the other’s wounds. Abigail is unable to shake the image of the shared blood pool her and Will were left drowning in. She was never able to bond with Will the way she did with Hannibal, Hannibal made sure of that. The bleeding wounds he carved into them were meant as a final attempt to bond them, the growing sea of thick red was meant to connect them. Will’s hand had pressed against her neck, shakier and more desperate than the first time. Even standing at the gates of death Will had dragged himself over to her and tried to pull her away from death. 

Abigail was still conscious when she felt his hand slip away from her neck, she almost expected another to replace it. She almost expected Hannibal to come back into the kitchen. She almost expected him to loom over her and press her gaping wound closed like he did the first time, their first bonding moment. Abigail thought she would die half hoping for him to come back, half hoping to fully die. 

Part of her died in her kitchen at the hand’s of her dad and the rest of her was finally following suit. She tightens the scarf around her neck and focuses again on the picture. The massive pool was calm, no struggle splatter. It was not the place of the fight. It was a place of rest; a place of triumph. She closes her eyes, visualizing herself there.

_ Abigail can hear the faint crashing of the waves and opens her eyes. She looks around at the blood that is splattered across the ground; glowing black in the moonlight, at the various weapons littered across the scene, and at the dead man’s body. She follows the bloodstains, careful not to disturb them. Walking until they stop by the side of the cliff. Abigail looks down at the vicious water that pounds against the rocks. She goes to tuck her hair behind her left ear; a haunting habit, only this time it is there to catch her lock of hair. _

_ “Abigail!” Hannibal’s voice cuts through the darkness and she turns to look at where the voice came from. He is standing in the doorway of the house, his chef's apron tied around his waist. “Please step away from the edge.” Abigail does as he says and walks towards Hannibal, the movements feeling familiar. _

_ “I’ve always lived by nature,” Abigail says as she walks closer to him, following him inside the house. “But I’ve never lived by water before, it’s calming.”  _

_ “As calming as it is destructive," Hannibal starts. "Water is both a baptism and a demise. It can kill as easily as it blesses.” Abigail stares back out through the glass wall at the edge of the cliff, a heavy splash interrupts the timely pounding of the waves.  _

She snaps her eyes open and looks down at the picture, the sounds of the waves fading from her ear. 

“They fell.” She whispers to herself as she bends down to pick up the picture, running her finger over it. “Their bodies could have been pulled out to sea, they would be lost by now.” She stares deeper at it, unable to believe that they are dead. “Why would they fall?” Her question goes unanswered, something she could not begin to solve. 

“To catch a fish more than once you need to make him bite when he isn’t hungry.” Abigail repeats what Jack had said earlier. “Jack tried to use a fisherman as bait. He never needed a fisherman, he needed a lure.”  _ Do you have any idea where they could be? _ Jack's voice echoes throughout her head. 

_ “Will wanted to teach you how to fish, I’m sure he still does. Maybe one day he can.” Hannibal had told her as they ate fish one night, one of the few meals that was what Hannibal said it was. “The fish Will caught tasted better.” _

Abigail runs her thumb over the wave; frozen in time. She had watched Hannibal browse through expensive fly fishing poles online; a gift Will never got the chance to receive. If they were alive they would be near water, water viable to fish from. If she could find the water, she could find them.


	5. Chapter 5

It takes Will multiple times for his eyelids to stay open, them heavy due to the brutality of everything he has gone through. Rolling his head to the other side before succumbing to their heaviness and letting them close again. Will can feel delicate, talented fingers slide up the back of his neck and through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. They drew hot sighs from Will’s lips as he relished in a touch that tender, a tenderness he spent too long vacant of. Even without his eyes he knows Hannibal is smiling; he can sense it in the air. The hand moves Will’s head back to where it was resting earlier, what should have been his pillow, it wasn’t. Warmth flows through Will’s body like a tidal wave, a warmth he has grown familiar with, Hannibal’s warmth. His eyes open to see Hannibal’s bare chest, his head resting on his shoulder. His brow knits with confusion as he looks up to meet Hannibal’s eyes, which gaze down at him fondly.

“It seems that you grew cold last night, Will.” Will’s cheeks burn with the realization that Hannibal didn’t move him in his sleep, he moved in his sleep to Hannibal. He knows he should pull away from him, but his warmth is addictive. The side of Will’s body not pressed against Hannibal is cold and riddled with goosebumps. Will stays; like a moth to a flame. 

“I’m sorry.” He finally manages to say. “You could have moved me.”

“Why would I do that?” Hannibal’s hand slides back into Will’s hair, continuing the massage on his scalp. “You were content, comfortable even.” Will feels his own hot sighs against Hannibal’s chest, the combination of his gentle fingers and body heat bringing the pain in Will’s head to a slow sizzle. 

“My comfort should not be at the cost of yours.” His cheeks grow hotter as Hannibal’s fingers press harder, but still gently against his scalp, drawing a groan from Will’s lips. 

“I never said I was uncomfortable.” Hannibal’s eyes glow as Will swallows down the saliva growing in his throat, trying his best to sit up. Hannibal’s hand slips from Will’s head and settles itself on his waist, pulling him gently to lean against the headboard. When his hand leaves his body the coldness of the cabin bites at Will’s skin once again. Hannibal sits up as well, the sheets that were covering the lower part of his chest and Will pool in his lap. If Will didn’t know better he would assume he was nude. 

“How do you feel, Will?” Hannibal asks as he fixes his hair, meeting Will’s gaze. 

“Heavy,” Will rubs a hand over his chest, which is surprisingly the sorest part of his whole body. “Tense.”

“Your body is right to be tense after everything it went through,” Hannibal runs his eyes unsubtly over Will’s shirtless chest. Will isn’t naive enough to believe he’s just checking for torn stitches. “I cannot begin to imagine how tight your muscles must be. If you were less battered I would put my hands to work un-tightening the rest of you.” Hannibal’s words hit Will in his gut and Hannibal knows it, he intended them to. Will leans his head back against the headboard and closes his eyes. Not giving Hannibal the pleasure of a flustered reaction. However, incapable of stopping the growing hotness of his cheeks. 

“My head does feel better.” Opening his eyes to look over at Hannibal once he feels most of the hotness slide away. “Thank you.” 

“All of the food I could find is intended for a long shelf life, cans.” Will watches a quick ripple of disgust flow across Hannibal’s face. “I could prepare... something, but it wouldn’t be to my standard of cooking.”

“With your skills I am sure you can make something decent. I’d rather lower my standards than go hungry.”

“I would rather starve.” Hannibal's rubs his lips together slightly after he speaks, which causes Will to notice how much he stares at Hannibal's mouth. He wants to tell himself that he is thinking about Hannibal's crimes, but he knows he isn't. 

“Hannibal,” Will starts, the man beside him serious. “You must drop your tastes, at least for now. You can regain them when we have settled somewhere permanent.” 

“Not all of them.”

“Not all of them,” Will repeats, watching Hannibal turn his head away from him. “At least for now.” Hannibal’s eyebrows arch and he turns his head to look back at Will, studying his face. “I know your appetite, Hannibal. Once it will not endanger us, you can regain all of them.”

“I can control my appetite,” Hannibal turns and moves his head back to where it was, closing his eyes.“When I want to.” A faint smile dancing on his lips as he speaks. Will watches Hannibal’s chest rise and fall with controlled breaths, the various stitches and bandages that Hannibal must have given himself, and the way the specks of sunlight glint off his toned muscles. Will thought he knew what Hannibal would look like under all those suit layers, this wasn’t what he fully expected. Will mirrors Hannibal’s smile, and he changes the subject. 

“I would kill for a shower right now. A nice hot shower.” Will sighs. “But I doubt my limbs would support me long enough.” A mental image of his own naked body showering, floods his mind. Strong arms slide around his waist to keep him upright, Hannibal’s arms. Will blinks the thought away and glances over at Hannibal, glad his eyes had stayed close. 

“There is a bathtub,” Hannibal says as he opens his eyes. “Decant size, should be able to hold your body comfortably.” Will tries not to focus on the last bit of Hannibal’s sentence as he gets out of bed. Hannibal, somehow, is already standing beside him. Will begins to say that Hannibal doesn’t need to carry him, but the other man makes no effort to. Will grabs his shoulder for support and manages to take two steps before his legs buckle beneath him. Hannibal’s warm arms are around his body before Will could even get close to the floor. Will lets out an unamused sigh.

“Would you like help, Will?” When he looks at Hannibal’s face he can tell he is playing with him, taking joy in both seeing Will this helpless and being the one to help him. 

“Would you carry me?” Will’s words come out hot and breathless, he can play too. “Please, Doctor?” Will can hear the soft exhale of air that sometimes accompanies one of Hannibal’s smiles. He is picked up easily in Hannibal’s arms and carried into the bathroom. Hannibal sets him on the edge of the bathtub as he turns on the water, testing the temperature. Will watches him set two folded towels on the floor next to the bathtub, then walking over to rummage through the bathroom closet. He comes back with two bottles and a sealed box of soap.

“Normally I advise my patients not to take baths with fresh stitches,” Hannibal runs his hand under the faucet again. “But for you I will make an exception, only if you allow me to inspect them afterwards.” Will nods, accepting Hannibal's reasonable request. 

“You made a lot of exceptions for me as a patient.” Hannibal turns to meet Will, an emotion Will can’t decipher flashes on his face before he heads to the door. Will pulls himself to his feet and manages to get his pants off before pain surges through his arms. “Hannibal?” He looks back at Will, his eyes curious. “This is embarrassing.” Will mutters, mainly to himself. “Can you help?” Hannibal’s eyebrows arch with interest, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Only my hair,” Will quickly adds. “I can do the rest. My arms kill and-” 

“Of course.” Hannibal interrupts him as he walks over to the window, adjusting the blinds slightly before turning the bathroom light off. The whole room was filled with soft sunlight, which was intended to keep Will modest. He watches the yellow glow wash over Hannibal’s face before he turns his back to him. Will undresses the rest of the way and slides into the bath. The water was dark, hot and ripples around the middle of his chest. Hannibal, hearing the water settle its movements, walks towards the bath and kneels beside it. “Put your head back.” Hannibal says softly, his hand bracing the back of Will’s neck and guiding his movements to get his hair wet.

“I’m sorry.” Will says again.

“If I asked you for help, you would help me.”

“You wouldn’t ask for help.”

“And if I did?” Will lets the question hang in the air, both men already knowing the answer. Will closes his eyes. He feels hands run product through his hair, massaging his scalp, and scrunching his curls. The smell of artificial lavender fills the room, he can’t imagine how much Hannibal despises it. Hannibal guides Will’s head to dip back fully into the water, feeling his fingers work the shampoo out. 

Will lets out a content sigh; he wades into the quiet of the stream. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning- this chapter contains descriptions of canon typical violence, brief mentions of suicide and self injury.

Abigail is standing in Hannibal’s dark kitchen, watching Will collapse to the floor, clutching his fresh wound. Abigail sees a doppelgänger of herself watch Will fall as well, transfixed with shaking fear. Hannibal is looming over Will, his eyes a swirling mix of overflowing sadness and terrifying emptiness. Her second self stares at the blood pooling around Will and she makes a choice; a choice the real her didn’t make. She drops to her knees beside Will, pressing her hands to his wound over his own hand. Will is shaking like a frightened, wet dog and she clenches her mouth shut to keep it from shaking like his. Hannibal stares down at her other self; a second wave of betrayal crashes over his face. 

“Abigail.” She watches herself swallow down the urge to do as he says. “Abigail.” Her name is bitter and mean as it rolls off his tongue for the second time. Her body shakes violently and Abigail watches herself look at Will, holding his wound as tightly as she can; choosing Will over Hannibal. Hannibal savagely grabs her old self by the hair, yanking her away from Will and jerking her head back. Her eyes wide with the realization of what is about to happen, what is about to happen again. A lone tear streams down her terror stricken face.

“No, no, no,” Will pleads weakly from the floor. “Hannibal, Hannibal. Please, no.” Hannibal holds her doppelgänger still, dangling her safety over Will. He is still begging by the time Hannibal raises his knife. Abigail watches the blade stab into her exposed neck and feels a jolt of brutality run through her body. Hannibal saws his blade in a vicious manner; a display of his disapproval. Her blood cascades out of the jagged wound, drenching both the floor and Will. Abigail feels her thick scar scratch with pain as she hears her own gargled gasps when Hannibal drops her to the bloody floor. She watches him stand over the both of them, still clutching his knife. It brings tears to her eyes as she sees Will weakly move towards her second body, pressing his hand to her savage wound. He has tears streaming down his face as well. 

Abigail watches her head roll to the side to look at Will, still gasping for air that won’t reach her lungs, sputtering blood and tears. She moves her hand back to Will’s stomach, trying to keep the wound closed. She can see the apology reflected in her own eyes; the apology for not being able to save him, the apology for letting Hannibal take her from him again.

Hannibal tilts his head with interest as he watches his two loved ones at his feet, trying to stop the other’s bleeding. He drops his blade and calmly walks from the kitchen, as he would on any other day. Abigail turns as he walks past the real her without seeing her, she waits for him to look back- he doesn’t. He leaves his home without a single glance behind him, not a single regret. Abigail turns her attention back to the bleeding bodies, both gasping through their pain as their consciousness fade. Her eyes are focused on her own hand pressed against Will, weakness slowly taking over as her hand falls limp off the wound, allowing his blood to freely spill onto the kitchen floor. She wouldn’t have survived if Hannibal had cut her that way.

* * *

Abigail gasps awake in her treatment bed, she is sobbing loudly and her lungs burn for air. She doesn’t even realize she was clawing at her scar until a nurse pulls her hands off her own neck. Abigail looks at blood on her fingernails as calm hands keep herself from her healed wound, stopping herself from hurting herself. Abigail struggles against their hold and it doesn’t take long for her to feel a needle slide into her arm and everything quickly fades away. 

Abigail is sitting at the table in her room, her fingers picking loosely at the bandaids that are littered over her scar. She is staring out the window at the trees when she hears the door open, she turns to see Jack walk into the room. 

“Hi, Abigail.” He walks over and sits across from her at the table, putting the checkers box he was holding under his arm on the floor. Once Abigail confessed to helping her dad with his murders and killing Nick she saw a completely different side of Jack; a side that was also manipulated by Hannibal, a caring, and thoughtful side. It became common practice for Jack to bring cards or board games for them to play during his visits. Even going as far as taping the covers of self help books to criminalist books and smuggling them to her, knowing she has a fascination for it. 

“I’m sure you knew they would call me.” Abigail nods, playing with a strand of her hair in place of her missing scarf. “The nurses wanted to put you on suicide watch, I assured them that wasn’t necessary. Was I correct?”

“Yes,” Abigail looks at the concerned expression on his face that he doesn’t bother hiding. “Suicide isn’t a plan, it’s a wondering thought. A houseguest you didn’t invite but one who suddenly shows up asking for your guest room” 

“They told me they found you in the middle of the night sobbing, screaming, and clawing at your neck. But you don’t have to tell me what happened.”

“I thought I was done dreaming about him.” Abigail looks back out the window, her own ghostly self faintly reflected back. It has been a while since she had bandages on her neck. But not long enough for her to forget what she looks like with them. 

“Your dad?” Jack asks. Abigail shakes her head, which elicits a soft sigh from him. “Hannibal or Will?”

“Both.” She says as she turns to look back at him, seeing the clarity of the situation cross his eyes. 

“That night?”

“I hadn’t dreamed about it in years, I thought I was over this.”

“Abigail, you survived a severely traumatic event, it is normal for those memories to resurface at random times. Did the pictures trigger you to think about it?”

“Not fully.” Jack looks at her with a curious, sad expression. He doesn't look at her with pity, he looks at her with the expression of someone who has gone through it with her, someone haunted by the same night. “It wasn’t exactly the same. I dreamed that I went to Will, tried to stop his bleeding. Hannibal didn’t like that. I’ve never been able to forgive myself for that.”

“For what? For not going to Will?”

“Doctors and therapists have explained again and again why I went to Hannibal, why I let him hurt me. I don’t hate myself for going to him, not anymore. I hate that I didn’t go to Will. He spent his possible last seconds trying to stop my bleeding as he bled out. He was thinking about me more than himself, and I just watched him bleed.” Her eyes fall to her hands, being able to make out faint specks of blood wedged under her fingernails.

“You can’t blame yourself for that, Abigail. You were scared.”

“I was scared and I went to Hannibal.” Jack doesn’t say anything to her words, looking at her with overwhelming compassion. “In some way, I think I wanted him to kill me. My Dad succeeded in killing a part of me in our kitchen and Hannibal could finally kill the rest of me. I would die where I was meant to; in my kitchen at the hands of my Dad. I wasn’t meant to live this long, I was living on borrowed time, time I stole from other girls. It was only a matter of time before death caught up to me, and everything would be how it should have been. I know it doesn’t make sense.” Her last words come out in a whisper. Ever since that morning in her kitchen she was living as a half-ghost; unable to be buried yet unable to be alive.

“It makes sense, Abigail.” Jack places his hand on top of her’s. “I died when Hannibal left me in his pantry, it took me a long time until I felt alive again.” Abigail’s eyes dart around his face, trying to find any mannerism proving his words were a joke or lie, she doesn’t find any.

“What made you feel alive?” 

“Beating the shit out of Hannibal.” Jack had surprised her into laughter. She remembers being told the story, her eyes had been wide with excitement when Jack explained the event. She smiles a little before looking out the window, at the trees moving softly in the breeze. She couldn’t remember the last time she stepped deep into a forest alone. 

“If Will and Hannibal’s bodies are discovered, what is going to happen to them?”

“If they have burial instructions inside their wills we will follow whatever is in there. If not, Will’s wife will get his body and she can decide what to do with him from there. I can’t imagine Hannibal wouldn’t have a will, well, maybe he’s cocky enough not to have one. But, in his case, if no one wanted to claim him, he would be buried in an unmarked grave.”

“He would hate that.” Jack smiles at her and nods. “Just like the way my dad was buried.” Jack nods again as she turns her head to look at him. “If I die before you, will you scatter my ashes in the forest behind my home? My parents are dead, I’m sure any of my distant family won’t want me knowing what I’ve done. If Will and Hannibal are dead as well, then you are all I have.”

“If. If you die before me, I will honor your request.” Tears pull at Abigail's eyes.

“I don’t plan on it but I need a plan if it happens. I know I couldn’t choose between them, I couldn’t choose between being buried by my dad or by Hannibal. After everything he did to me I know he loves me, just as I know my dad loved me as he cut my throat. I couldn’t choose.” Jack squeezes her hand softly, a sad smile on his lips. “I know how it sounds, they both tried to kill me and I can’t stop loving them.”

“It’s not an uncommon feeling. Both men impacted your life greatly, good and bad. You shouldn’t feel guilty for caring for people who cared for you, no matter what way they showed it. However, I don’t want to be scattering your ashes in a forest anytime soon.” His voice had shifted into the tone she would imagine a kind, yet overprotective father would use. A tone she wasn’t used to. 

“I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. We can play now, if you would like.” Jack picks up the box.

“Red or black?”

“Black,” Abigail watches him set up the board. “I always forget Will is married.”

“She’s a nice woman, I was the one that told her Will went missing. I had to, I pulled him back into that world and that world took him away.”

“It didn’t take him unwillingly, unless it killed him.” Jack looks up at her, curiously. 

“What makes you say that?”

“His last documented moments were killing someone with Hannibal, if he is alive and with Hannibal, he went willingly.” Jack nods along with her words. “Last game’s loser goes first.” She makes no effort to move a piece and Jack chuckles before making his first move.

Abigail looks down at the black and red board, remembering how her opponent plays the game, already plotting her winning route.


	7. Chapter 7

Will stands in their kitchen, pouring two cups of coffee. It has been about two weeks since their fall. His injuries were mostly healed, his body adding a new collection of scars to its catalogue. He sips his coffee and surveys their cabin, which is larger than their first. It was tucked deep inside the forest near a river that cut through the trees, extremely secluded. It was almost entirely made out of dark wood, the flames of the lit fireplace dance over the shine of the floor. An open concept living room with only a bookcase, a couch and coffee table which flowed into the kitchen. Will knew Hannibal was personally offended by it. He had watched Hannibal pull the table they use to eat their meals into the kitchen, to act as a kitchen island on certain occasions, all while muttering about lack of counter space. 

There was one bedroom with a master bath that both Hannibal and Will occupied and another room which appeared to be a lackluster attempt at a guest room, neither men used it. They had luckily found fishing poles and hunting rifles in the unfinished basement. Which allowed Will to provide their dinners and made it so Hannibal didn’t have to use his preferred method of hunting. Will picks up the second mug and walks through the living room, eyeing the spot on the wall where a taxidermy deer head used to be mounted. Will had stashed it in the basement under Hannibal’s curious eyes, but never prying Will for an explanation. He slides open the glass door with his elbow and walks onto the small balcony, over to Hannibal. 

“Good morning, Hannibal.” He takes his coffee from Will, blowing softly on it. “Sleep well?” 

“Very,” Hannibal looks over at him with a smile, his hair still messy. “You wore me out last night. I'm quite impressed” Will chuckles softly and sips his own coffee, running his eyes over the various suck bruises and bite marks that adorned Hannibal’s neck. “What does today hold for you?” 

“Our reserve of fish is getting low, but I’m sure you’re bored of cooking fish.” Will drinks his coffee as he looks out at the forest. “I think I’ll go hunting today.” Hannibal nods and finishes his coffee, setting the mug on the railing. Will smiles as Hannibal’s arms wrap around his waist, smiling more when he feels his warm fingers slide under the bottom of his flannel to touch his bare skin. Hannibal’s thumb grazes over the scar he left on Will, his head burying into his neck. 

“I am eternally grateful you no longer have that dreadful aftershave.” Hannibal’s lips brush against Will’s skin and he sighs contently. They stay like this for a while, Hannibal holding Will and Will letting Hannibal hold him. A question Will had been wondering since they arrived finally clawed enough at his mind for him to ask it.

“If the cabin owners arrive we are killing them, correct?”

“We?” Will turns and leans against the railing as Hannibal moves his hands onto it, on each side of him as he studies his face.

“Did you really think I’m going to let you have all the fun?” Will finishes his coffee and sets his mug on the railing beside the other mug. Hannibal leans down to kiss Will’s forehead scar, before cupping his face to kiss his lips. “I can’t imagine what they will say about me if we are found.” He says as their lips part. 

“We never have to disclose our romantic and sexual relationship.”

“I’m sure they will assume, Freddie did call us ‘Murder Husbands’ after all. And…” Will runs a finger over the marks he left on Hannibal’s neck, knowing they continue onto his chest. “These don’t leave much up for assumption.” 

“No, they do not.” Hannibal’s finger runs over Will’s wedding band. “Is that why you still wear this? To try to mask our relationship?”

“I am still technically a married man. I’m sure Molly hasn’t divorced me yet, I’m not sure you can even divorce someone who is missing.” Hannibal’s face tightens at the mention of her name. “Does that make you jealous?” Will looks up at him with a smirk twitching on his lips, knowing it does.

“It makes me wish I had my wedding band.” 

“If we weren’t fugitives and we had a normal life, would you marry me?” The question slips between Will's lips before he can stop himself.

“I wanted you in my life since the first time I laid eyes on you, I was deeply interested in you. I wasn’t sure if it was romantic interest, I hadn’t felt anything beyond physical attraction in years. But as time went on it became evident it was much more than finding your body attractive, it was about finding all parts of you attractive. Even the dark parts beneath your surface.” Will swallows the saliva that was building in his mouth, Hannibal’s intense eyes staring into his. “I don’t intend to be caught again, I now have something to lose.” Will turns around and looks back out at the forest, unable to form a coherent sentence to respond to Hannibal’s admission of raw emotion. Hannibal’s arms slide back around his waist and Will practically melts under his touch.

“What do you plan to do today?” Will asks when he can find words.

“I’ll continue reading through their library, the books are pitifully awful. However, I must keep my mind sharp.”

“When I go into town for groceries next I’ll see if I can find something you may like.”

“You can look, but I’m sure you will find nothing suitable.” Will leans his body back against Hannibal. Feeling his warmth bleed through their clothes, rivaling the chilly morning air.

“I need a shower.” Hannibal nods against his neck but his arms stay tight around Will’s waist. “Hannibal, you have to let me go so I can shower.” His arms make no motion to move. “Unless you plan on showering with me.”

“A very tempting offer.” He muses. 

“Just an offer?" A grin sweeps over Will's lips. "Don’t think you’re strong enough to hold me upright? Have you lost your edge, Hannibal?”

“Never.” Hannibal says darkly before he sinks his teeth into Will’s neck, causing Will to groan softly. He knows what Hannibal’s teeth are used to consuming, he should be mortified, but he can’t bring himself to be. Will assumes he may be the only person who will ever survive Hannibal’s teeth, who will survive Hannibal’s appetite. He holds that terrifying thought pridefully in his chest. 

“Then why don’t you prove me wrong?” He feels Hannibal smile against his neck and his teeth sink into his skin again, drawing blood this time. Will is already being dragged inside their cabin by the time he can feel blood run down his skin, Hannibal’s quick fingers unbuttoning his shirt. They leave a trail of their clothes through the room before disappearing into the bathroom. 


	8. Chapter 8

Abigail let the weeks slip by, she figured Will and Hannibal would need time to find somewhere to settle and stay settled. Each day began to eat at her more and more, she began pacing around her room and fixing her scarf anxiously for hours on end. She hasn't felt this trapped since her first few weeks in treatment, she didn’t even feel this trapped with Hannibal. She stands with her back to the wall, moving her feet softly on the wood floor. 

_ “How did you manage to sneak up on him?” Abigail had asked Jack as he explained his second fight with Hannibal. “I could never sneak up on him.” _

_ “Simple- I took my shoes off. Easiest way to throw someone off, especially if they expect loud footsteps.”  _

Abigail looks at her flats that are sitting beside her bed, she slides her scarf off her neck, twisting it in her hands so she can pull it taught.  She can hear the soft footsteps of the nurse coming to her door, to take her plate from dinner. 

_“I can’t have them watch me eat,” Abigail had lie fully sobbed to a nurse. “When I see someone watch me eat all I see is him, it’s all him. And I can taste human flesh in my mouth again. I can’t see him again, please, he already haunts me enough.”_

She hears the keys turn in the lock and watches the door swing open, hiding her behind it only for a second before the nurse closes it. A soft smile creeps onto Abigail’s face as she sees the nurse she expected. Long brown hair, a little shorter, and skinnier than her- easy to overpower. 

“Miss Hobbs?” The nurse scans the room as Abigail creeps silently behind her, twisting the scarf slowly. Abigail stares at her dark hair and kicks hard at the back of her knee. Before the nurse can hit the ground Abigail pulls the scarf over her head and it settles it on her throat. The nurse’s calls for help come out as gasps for air as Abigail pulls the scarf tighter around her neck. She watches her face strain and become blotchy with redness, her fingers weakly tugging at the scarf. 

“It will be over soon.” Abigail whispers into her ear as she stands behind her. She adjusts her grip on each end of her scarf and pulls it tighter until the nurse falls limp against her. She grabs her by her waist and lays her down on the floor, standing over her. Abigail looks down at her face, so much like her own. _I_ _ s this what my dad felt? Is this what Hannibal felt? _ She finds herself thinking as she stares at the weirdly peaceful body at her feet. The last body Abigail had stood over had been gutted and bleeding, she claimed self defense when she professed her crimes to Jack. She was fully sure how much she believed in her explanation anymore. Strangulation is a much cleaner method. 

She easily picks her up and sets her on the floor of her closet. Reaching into the nurse’s pockets, finding her keys. Abigail adjusts her scarf back around her neck and takes one last look at the body. Abigail stuffs the nurse the rest of the way into the closet and shuts the door silently, picking up her chair to wedge it under the door handle. She sits on the bed and puts on her combat boots, a beanie and heavy jacket. Which used in the rare occasions she was allowed guided walks in the forest. She scans herself one final time in the mirror, checking to make sure the beanie was covering her ear, or lack thereof.

She flips through the keys and walks over to the window, trying a couple before her freedom springs open. She looks down out the open window, for a second she can see Alana's glass covered body before it fades away. At least her room is on the first floor.  Abigail is climbing halfway out the window when she looks back at her bed,  _ the pictures _ , she thinks. She hops back inside and digs into her pillowcase to pull out the crime scene pictures. She stuffs them in her coat pocket before finally climbing out the window. She breaks into a sprint the second she hits the ground, remembering all the times she had ran through the forest behind her house. 

Under the cover of growing darkness she runs towards the facility fence, climbing up the chainlink in familiar movements. She drops down on the other side of and looks one last at her treatment facility, if everything went her way she would never have to return there. A smile spread across her face before she turns, running towards the parking lot. Abigail clicks the ‘unlock’ button on the car key attached to the nurse’s keyring and follows the soft light, she couldn’t remember the last time she drove a car. 

She throws herself inside and locks the doors, her hands are shaking with adrenaline as she takes a hold of the steering wheel. Abigail lets out a shaky breath, slides the key in, and pulls out of the parking lot as calmly as she can. 

“Ditch the car as soon as possible,” She tells herself as she drives down the dark road. “They will notice it’s missing when they find the nurse. They won’t put out an amber alert, I’m dead.” She smiles to herself before turning on the radio and hums softly along to the music. 

Abigail drives until the sun rises and she finds herself in a small town. She pulls into a grocery store parking lot and puts the car in park as she digs through the car, something she didn’t do in her haste to leave. She finds a backpack on the floor of the passenger seat and riffles through it. She finds- various pens, a packet of gum, a couple granola bars, hair barrettes, notebooks, a digital watch, psychology textbooks and a wallet. She unwraps a stick of gum as she opens the wallet. It luckily contained a good amount of cash and a driver's license that looked somewhat like her. Abigail next opens the glovebox and isn’t met with much, only a pair of leather gloves and an umbrella among assorted car papers and manuals. She tosses everything she deemed necessary into the backpack and slides on the gloves as she steps out. Abigail locks the car behind her even though it is unlikely she will return for it. 

“Your name is Chloe Stewart,” Abigail whispers to herself as she starts walking into town, that being the name on the license. “Chloe Stewart.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning- this chapter contains animal death and canon typical violence.

Hannibal lounges on the couch reading a book as Will tugs on his boots, his hunting rifle propped against the wall.

“What are you planning to hunt for?” Hannibal asks as he turns a page. 

“I’ve seen deer the past couple of times I’ve been fishing, I’m not the best hunter but I should be able to shoot at least one.” Hannibal looks at him over his book and nods.

“Any input on dinner?”

“As long as it’s actually the deer I hunt, no.” Will pulls his coat on and zips it up. “I don’t mind your food, I mind being lied to about it.” He slings his gun over his shoulder and walks to the door. “Do you know how to butcher a deer?”

“I can manage. Have a successful hunt.”

“Stay out of trouble.” Will can tell Hannibal is smiling behind his book, even without seeing his lips. Will opens the door and leaves the cabin, walking down the steps. He treks into the dense woods, careful to avoid twigs that would give off his location. Will heads for the river where he normally fishes, the sound of running water growing louder with each step. Will walks until he positions himself at a good angle to see the riverbank, where the deer sometimes come to drink. He pulls the gun off his shoulder and clicks the safety off, inhaling the smell of the forest that mixes with the smell of the stream. Will crouches down and holds his gun ready to shoot, keeping his eyes poised on his target vicinity.

Will is unsure how long he spent crouched on the ground, he developed the ability to turn off his brain and let time pass around him while in prison. A deer coming into view snaps Will from his trance, a healthy doe. Will studies her; serene and peaceful. He has to swallow down the guilt of what he was doing, what he was about to do. Will raises his rifle and looks through the scope again but this time Abigail looks back. 

Chills run down his entire body and his grip on the rifle tightens, he can’t look away from her. She looks the way he envisioned her the night of the fall, while Hannibal was giving his unconscious body CPR. Abigail stares at him through the scope with the recognition of what he was doing, herself on the receiving end of what she had wielded for so long. Abigail’s fingers raise to her scarf and pull it from her neck, it flutters softly to the ground. She stands confident, staring Will down. Abigail’s mouth moves but there is no sound, only the noises of nature. But Will could read her lips; ‘well?’ she had asked him. 

Will seizes the trigger with a shaky finger as he stares at her, waiting for her to change her mind. Abigail just stands still with a soft smile on her face, welcoming his action. Will swallows down the saliva in his mouth and pulls the trigger. The bullet hits her neck and tears open her throat, sending a cascade of blood as she falls backwards. He pulls away from the scope, breathing in sharply through his nose. He fumbles to switch the safety back on and places the butt of the gun on the ground, leaning against it. 

Will hasn’t hallucinated her in years. Her haunting has stayed merely to his nightmares, but Abigail managed to claw out of his sleeping subconscious and into his waking world. 

Will rises slowly, slinging the gun over his shoulder and begins to walk towards his kill. He lets out a sigh of relief when he is met with the doe and not Abigail, she is lying peacefully in the grass. He runs a hand gently over her side, she is still breathing. Will curses under his breath as he sets his gun down, patting over his coat until he pulls out his pocket knife. He flicks open the blade and steps over her to crouch down by her spine. He reaches to pull back the deer’s head with his other hand, his hand is met with long human hair. 

Will drops her head and jerks away, looking over to see Abigail again. She turns her head to look at him her neck is horrific. Turning all her clothes red, chunks of her flesh missing. Will feels like he is standing over the body with it's cheeks and lips sliced open all over again, holding the blade and trying to convince himself he didn't do this.

“Well?” She asks again. His blood runs cold hearing her voice. “Aren’t you going to finish the job you started?” In a frantic move Will grabs her by the hair at the back of her head and jerks backwards. Stabbing his blade into what is left of her neck, cutting the jugular. When he focuses back down at the body it is the deer again, bleeding out from the cut he just made. Will lays her head down gently and waits for her to bleed the rest of the way out, watching her chest no longer rise and fall. His mouth is filled with bile by the time he picks the deer up and carries her on his shoulders, feeling a warm trickle of blood run down his hand. 

As their cabin comes into view he can see Hannibal on the balcony, no doubt waiting for his return.  Hannibal descends the stairs and meets Will by a large outside table, one the real cabin’s owners used for butchering their kills as well. Will sets the deer on the table and looks over at Hannibal.

“That didn’t take you very long.” Hannibal runs his eyes over the deer as he pulls a hunting knife from his back pocket. “This is a nice kill, Will, especially for an inexperienced hunter. You should be proud.” When he turns to meet Will his eyes flick over his features, assessing the distress on his face. Hannibal sets the knife on the table and his hands gently take hold of Will’s wrists, raising his hands to look at the blood on them. 

“She didn’t die when I shot her.” Will says, as if the slashed neck didn’t say otherwise. “I’m just gonna go wash up.” He twists his way from Hannibal’s hold and starts to walk towards the stairs. He turns to see Hannibal pick up the knife and stab it into the deer’s stomach without hesitation. Will rips his eyes away from the concentration on Hannibal’s face and heads inside, setting his gun against the wall. He struggles to get his jacket off as he walks in their bedroom, tossing it on their bed. 

Will is halfway through rinsing the blood off in the sink when the bile rises again in his throat, he doesn’t fight it. He collapses to the floor and vomits into the toilet, thankful Hannibal is preoccupied. Will fumbles with his eyes closed to flush it, not opening them until the sound of his regret being flushed away is gone. Not stable enough to hallucinate Abigail’s ear in his vomit again. 

* * *

That night Will lays in their bed tossing and turning, every time he starts to sink asleep he sees her. Her voice trickles inside his mind, saying words she never got the chance to utter to him or more horrifically, her gurgling last breathes. Will hasn’t been haunted by Abigail this badly since after her death, since he was unknowingly haunted while looking for Hannibal. When he let her go, unable to carry her in this world any longer, it was a second death. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks at the alarm clock on the nightstand, reading four in the morning. Will was hoping if he stays awake long enough sleep will overtake him faster than he can jerk himself away from it, away from her. It doesn’t. All his sleepless nights from his brain being on fire crawl back to him, he had built up a tolerance for staying awake all night. Will ponders dragging himself from bed and drinking himself to sleep. But shrugs the idea away, if it doesn’t knock him out it will bring a horrific alcohol swirl of a nightmare. He closes his eyes again, calming his breathing so sleep washes over him. 

“No, no.” His own pleading floods his ears followed by the vicious sound of skin being cut and blood hitting a hardwood floor. Will jerks himself awake angrily, inhaling sharply. His whiskey no longer sounds like a bad idea. Will is about to haul himself from bed when Hannibal’s voice stops him.

“Having trouble sleeping?”

“Yes.” He snips at him, adjusting his pillow under his head.  _ What else does it look like? _ He wants to say, the words only bounce unheard in his brain. Will stares up at the ceiling, aware of Hannibal’s gaze inspecting him. “I am still haunted.”

“What is haunting you, Will? What has ahold of you and-”

“You know damn well.” Will interrupts him. “I used to spend so long mourning my decision, that if I left with you I could have stopped it all. I understand why you cut me open, I understand the reason behind the knife. I’ve stopped blaming myself for your hands, you were the one that slashed her open. And I am the one haunted by it.” Tears fall down the sides of Will’s face and his body shakes with anger, he is too upset to try to hide them. Hannibal stays silent beside him. 

“You said we were supposed to be better than Garrett Jacob Hobbs, that we were her fathers.” Will continues as he turns his head to finally look at Hannibal through his wet eyelashes. “You killed our daughter.” He can’t look at Hannibal for too long before turning away. The sight of his calm face making anger seethe into his bones, shaking him to his core. Will stares at the dark wood of the ceiling, breathing heavy and uneven. He feels a hand softly touch his shoulder. A physical reminder of the kindness Hannibal is capable of; it drives him to rage. 

“Don’t fucking touch me, Hannibal!” Will snaps at him as he worms free of his grip, he can feel the surprise in Hannibal’s hand as it slides off his body. Will rolls on his side so his back is to him. Will is not able to look at whatever expression has broken through Hannibal's mask. Doesn't matter if its sadness, shock, surprise, or pain- Hannibal displaying emotion would just anger Will more. Thinking that Hannibal is a heartless, emotionless monster makes his acts of cruelty easier to understand, but Will knows that isn't what he is. His acts of cruelty against Will were built from the sadness of being betrayed and Abigail got caught in the crossfire. 

“Would you like me to sleep in the other room tonight?” Will’s jaw clenches at Hannibal’s question.

“No.” He tries to get comfortable in bed until he rolls to finally face Hannibal again, whose face is curiously looking at Will’s. Will laughs awkwardly out of anger, running a hand through his hair. “I should be disgusted by you, I shouldn’t be here with you. I shouldn’t let your hands touch me knowing what you’ve done with them. I definitely shouldn’t be able to have sex with you. I shouldn’t be able to fall asleep next to you every single night feeling safe, while knowing you have a knife on your bedside table. I shouldn’t be able to.” Will rubs his forehead, a headache on the horizon. 

“But I can.” He continues. “I can look at you and see past all of that. All of the hurt you’ve done to me, to my friends, even to my family. But Abigail?” Hannibal’s face flinches subtly at her name. “That I can never forgive.” Will wipes the tears from his eyes and rolls away from Hannibal one final time. 

“You are not the only one haunted by Abigail.” Hannibal says softly.

“You deserve to be.” Will pulls the covers back around him, his way of saying ‘this conversation is over’. He feels the mattress move as Hannibal settles back into bed beside him. Will slips asleep while wondering what Hannibal’s haunting looks like.


	10. Chapter 10

Abigail studies her reflection in the glass of the door, making sure that her beanie covers what is left of her ear before pushing it open. A little bell rings out through the small hunting shop as she walks inside. She smiles warmly, but not too warmly, at the old man behind the counter. Abigail picks up a green plastic basket by the door with her gloved hands. The shop is adorned with taxidermy animals, faded camo wallpaper and mounted deer antlers. She wanders down the aisles slowly as she unfolds a note from her pocket, her own handwriting detailing what she should need. She tosses a flashlight in the basket, keeping track of the price in her head. 

Abigail had found eighty dollars in the wallet and she plans to make it last as long as possible. Her eyes scan along the ceiling, pretending to look at the taxidermy. _Not many cameras or employees_ , she thinks to herself as she picks up a small compass. Her dad had always taken her to run down, mom and pop hunting stores instead of big chain hunting stores. When she became involved with helping him she understood why; he didn’t want to leave an easy evidence trail. She slips the compass into her big jacket pocket and keeps moving up the aisle. Abigail puts a water bottle with a built in filter and two packages of beef jerky into the basket, if she rationed that and the granola bars she found in the backpack they should be enough for a couple of days. 

She looks through the objects on the shelf to see the man behind the counter preoccupied with dusting the shelf behind him, his back to her. Abigail plucks a lighter off the display and pockets it as well. She looks back at her list, the one thing she hasn’t picked up yet is a knife. Abigail adjusts her scarf tighter around her neck and walks up to the counter. 

“Sir?” She asks, causing the man to turn around. “May I look at your pocket knives?”

“Of course, Miss.” He says as he unlocks and pulls out a tray of knives. “What are you looking for?”

“Something small,” Abigail runs her eyes over the blades. “May I pick them up?”

“Be my guest.” The old man smiles at her, she can barely read his faded name tag that says ‘Jerry’. Abigail picks up one of the knives and holds it close to her face as she clicks the button to open the blade. Not watching for its quickness but listening to the amount of sound it made. “I can ring the rest of your items up while you decide.” Abigail nods and sets the basket on the counter.

“Which is the sharpest?”

“They are all similar in sharpness,” Jerry says. Abigail can hear the beeping of the items being rang up. “Only two are serrated blades, whatever one you choose I can sharpen it to your liking.” Abigail looks back down at the tray, seeing a gentle outline of dust where the knife she was holding sat. 

“What is my total so far?” She eyes the price tags.

“$35 exactly.” He responds cheerfully, Abigail forces her face into a sad smile as she looks at the $30 dollar knife she is holding. Her money was not going to last her as long as she hoped, especially if she did nothing. “I am willing to take five dollars off your overall price, if that would help.” She can hear the hopefulness in his voice, rather losing five dollars than a $60 sale. 

“That would help, this one please.” She hands him the silver pocket knife she had been looking at. “Thank you.” Abigail sets her backpack on the ground and pulls out the wallet, handing him Chloe’s drivers license. He barely looks at it before handing it back to her with a smile. Abigail slides the license away as she pulls out $60 and hands it to Jerry. 

“And you would like this sharpened?” Abigail nods as he turns his back to her to sharpen the knife. Abigail takes the plastic bag and gently pushes the multiple printed pages of directions she had gotten from the local library aside before placing it inside. When she zips it closed and settles the backpack on her shoulders he is already done, holding the closed knife out to her.

“Thank you, again.” She takes the knife and slides it into her coat pocket. “Actually, do you have a restroom I may use?” She follows his oddly specific directions and locks herself in the dingy one stall bathroom. Abigail digs through the bag to fill up her water bottle in the sink, trying not to focus on how stained the white porcelain is. She nestles it in her bag's water bottle holder and slips the items she shoplifted into her backpack as well. 

Abigail sighs as she takes the beanie off, smoothing her frizzy hair. She pulls her hair away from what is remaining of her left ear, running her fingers over the scarred tissue. Her other hand unties her scarf to reveal her thick scar, letting it hang limp on her neck. She runs her thumb over the scar, knowing she could find a phone, call Jack to apologize for everything and go back home. But that hospital wasn’t her home, the last time she had felt at home was with Hannibal. Even her throat being slit open felt like home. Abigail stares at her wounded reflection, mangled by the dads who both love her, who she loves back. 

She tries to imagine what it would be like to see Hannibal again, what he would do to her. Her mind is a disjointed blur of images, none coming to a clear conclusion. He could kill her as much as he could welcome her. Imagining Will’s expression is easy, just replaying how he looked in Hannibal’s kitchen- dripping wet from the rain, lowering his gun, and looking at her in utter disbelief.

_“Abigail?”_

Her own name spoken from his lips echoes in her mind and she pulls her beanie back on in a desperate attempt to block it out. Jack and the FBI had kept her hidden not only so Will would be motivated to find Hannibal, but also to protect her from Hannibal. Jack had informed her that Hannibal made a threat against Alana, her wife and their child. And they took it seriously enough to vanish without a trace.

_“If he knew you were alive I have no doubt that he would make another attempt on your life.” Jack had told her. “And if he does, he will make sure you die. If he attacks you again, he will not allow you to walk away.”_

Through all the mucky uncertainty she is positive Will won’t let Hannibal slice the finishing wound to her already knife kissed neck. Will won’t let Hannibal hurt her again. Abigail ties her dark green scarf back around her neck, calming her features in the mirror.

 _If_ , Abigail thinks to herself, _if he is alive_ . Will is either dead, his body lost at sea, possibly intertwined with Hannibal's. Or he is alive and with Hannibal. Those are the only options. _If Will is alive_ , she thinks. _He is with him._ As Abigail looks at her reflection in the dirty mirror one last time she cannot decide if that thought brings her comfort or fear. Abigail is no longer entirely certain that the Will she finds will be the same one who put her bleeding body before his own, he plunged into Hannibal’s darkness off that cliff; not even a good lure may be able to pull him safely from the murky, black water.


	11. Chapter 11

Will wakes wrapped in warmth as he brings himself out of an empty nights sleep, for once Abigail stayed at bay. Will pulls the covers tighter around him and is met with a different fabric than expected. Sitting up he is able to see a thick flannel blanket covering his body, the one from the living room couch. Will runs his fingers over the material and lays back down. Hannibal had gotten up, at some point during the night, to grab the blanket and cover him. As Will lays, shaking sleep from his eyes, it dawns on him that this was the first time he hadn’t gone to bed or woken up cuddled against Hannibal. At first it started out of necessity; the cabin was normally frigid to Will’s small body. But over time, as they grew more romantic and their relationship grew physical, it became natural. Just another thing they did, like eating dinner or lying to each other. 

Will looks to see if Hannibal is beside him still, he is not, not uncommon since Hannibal always gets up first to make breakfast. Will sighs as he rubs his forehead, turning his attention to the alarm clock on his nightstand, which reads 9:34 in the morning. His eyes drift from the red numbers to the glass of water and two white pills beside it. Will sits up in bed and picks up the pills, recognizing them as the aspirin he used to religiously swallow. 

He tosses them back into his mouth and downs a swig of water,  _ I basically tell him to go fuck himself and yet he covers me up and gives me pain meds _ . Will shakes away the thought as he slides out of bed, putting his sweatpants on from the floor. After spending a few minutes looking for his shirt, he gives up and wraps the blanket around himself instead.  Will walks down the hallway to the kitchen and is met with Hannibal’s back, him cooking on the stovetop. Will’s eyes wander over Hannibal’s body, watching the fabric move with his muscles subtly as he cooks. The shirt he is wearing is taught against his back, making every movement of his shoulders more visible. 

“Is that my sleep shirt?” Will asks, the shirt obviously too small for it to be Hannibal’s. 

“And if it is?” Hannibal doesn’t turn to look at Will, he abandons the stove to pour a cup of coffee. Will can hear the gentle sound of the liquid and the stir of a spoon inside of it. Hannibal holds the cup out for him and Will nods a thank you as he takes it. The steam licks Will’s face as he leans against the kitchen counter, blowing on the hot coffee. 

“I’m not apologizing.” Will says before taking a slow sip, the coffee is exactly how he likes it. 

“I’m not asking.” Hannibal returns back to the stove. “Breakfast will be done soon, please sit.” Will walks over to their table, doing as Hannibal says. Hannibal sets a plate down in front of Will and one for himself as he sits across from him. Will picks up his fork and looks down at the meal. 

_ “I’ve never had food like this before,” Will had once said to Hannibal over dinner. “I never got many opportunities to.” _

_ “Never invited to fancy parties?” Hannibal asks as he studies the sliver of meat on his fork. _

_ “If I was, do you really think I’d go?” Hannibal smiles at his words. _

_ “Was your father not a good cook?”  _

_ “We were too poor to worry about making food taste good, even if we did have money we would never be able to access the type of ingredients you use.” Will had put another forkful in his mouth between words, knowing exactly what he was eating. A grin played at Hannibal’s lips as he looked at Will over his fork. “We normally only ate things we could catch, hunt, or grow. Whenever we did come into extra money when I was a kid, which was rare, he’d make us chocolate chip pancakes.” A faint smile lingered on Will’s face as he picked up his glass and swirled his wine gently. _

_ “Cooking in itself is an act of creation, giving energy and in a way, continuing life. The meal is a gift one gives to another; many consider cooking an act of love.” Hannibal’s words hung heavy in Wills head as he took a sip of wine.  _

Will looks down at the plate before him; Hannibal had made him chocolate chip pancakes. His eyes drift slowly to meet Hannibal’s, who only offers a glint of a smile in his eyes before he picks up his silverware. Will cuts into the fluffy cakes and takes a bite, aware of Hannibal’s persistent gaze on him. 

What strikes Will is how normal they taste, their kitchen has enough ingredients for Hannibal to make these fancier, he didn’t. Hannibal had cooked them in the basic way he probably imagined Will’s dad used to make them. Nostalgia tugs at his eyes and Will swallows it down along with his food. The pair eat mostly in silence, the unassuming meal before him conveying more than Hannibal’s pretentious words could ever. 

Will drinks the rest of his coffee and stands up with his empty dishes, letting the blanket that was wrapped around his bare shoulder slump into the chair. He deposits them into the sink and goes to switch on the water when he can see Hannibal start to rise from his chair as well. In a few steps he is behind Hannibal’s chair and is pressing him back into it, both his hands on his shoulders.

“You cook,” Will says. “I take care of the dishes. That’s what we agreed upon.” Hannibal looks up at Will’s face and sets his dishes back on the table. Will picks them up and walks back to the sink. He’s halfway through washing them when he can feel faint, ghostly fingers dance along his waist. It sends goosebumps over his bare skin. Will continues cleaning the dishes, unbothered, and Hannibal’s arms finally slide familiarly around his waist. Will washes out a mug, thinking about how his words- ‘don’t fucking touch me’, are going to ring in Hannibal’s mind every time he reaches for Will from now on. Hannibal’s head rests softly on Will’s, buried in his hair as Will puts aside the dishes to dry.

“Where do we go from here?” Will ponders as he looks out the window above the kitchen sink, at the woods beyond the pane of glass. If he wanted to, Will could run. He could injury Hannibal enough to get away or slip out in the night. Find a phone, call Jack, go back to his wife, and claim Hannibal kept him against his will. It would be almost too easy, easier than staying with Hannibal and dredging through the mess that is their relationship.

“Couples fight, it’s quite normal.”

“Couples don’t pull their partner off a cliff.” He feels the soft exhale of breath on his neck, evidence of a silent laugh. Will turns in Hannibal’s grasp to face him. “We’re dysfunctional, destructive to each other.” 

“I’m sure that is what many would say.” Hannibal says as Will rests his forehead on his chest, his hand moving to play softly with Will’s hair. “Will, as of this moment, is this where you want to be?” Will’s other option flashes in his brain- where he is back with his wife, still trying to suppress the growing void inside him, a void he didn’t want to refer to by name.

“Yes.” Will’s voice comes out in a whisper. “That makes it worse, doesn’t it? They will want to think you kept me prisoner for your own amusement. Instead of being trapped against my will, I willingly trapped myself with you. They’ll want it to be Stockholm Syndrome, and it won’t be.”

“What we are doesn’t have a name yet. And if I kept you for my own amusement, as you put it, I would eat you.” Will lifts his head to meet Hannibal’s eyes. 

“Like you did with Gideon.”

“No. Kinder than what I did with Gideon.” Hannibal replies as he cups Will’s face gently.

“How long do you think you could make me last?” Hannibal internally ponders the question for a little. Will can see him working out how to ration his body to last the longest amount of time, knowing Hannibal wouldn’t let any of him go to waste.

“Depending on how much meat I take per meal and how well you behave, quite a while. A month, possibly two if I make enough preparations beforehand.”

“What do you think I’d taste like?” A smile crosses Hannibal’s lips at Will’s question.

“Well, the taste would change due how I would cook you and what ingredients I use. However, I’d like to imagine you would taste just as the first bite tasted to Eve. Forbidden and delectable, but also damming myself in the process.” Will’s eyes glow with interest.

“Damming yourself to what?” Will’s voice is faint, afraid of the power his answer could hold. Hannibal leans down to kiss Will’s forehead scar. 

“A life without you.” Hannibal’s fingers twirl a curl of his hair and Will moves his head to kiss Hannibal’s wrist scar, the one he gave by another’s hands. He kisses down the length of the scar and takes hold of Hannibal’s other wrist.

“I used to wish he had killed you,” Will states before starting to kiss down the other scar. “So none of what you had done would have happened. But over those years without you I realized I had a void inside myself.” A smile twitches on Hannibal’s face as Will finishes kissing down the scar. Hannibal’s hands return to Will’s waist but not for long, he goes on his knees before him. Will’s eyes widen as a response but his fingers run through Hannibal’s hair, thankful he didn’t have access to his styling products.

“In the kitchen?” Will raises an eyebrow at the man at his feet and Hannibal only pulls him closer as a response. His lips meet one edge of Will’s stomach scar. Will’s breath hitches in his throat and his grip on Hannibal’s hair tightens. Hannibal closes his eyes and follows along his scar using touch alone, his tongue sometimes grazes across where his knife once grazed. By the time Hannibal reaches the other side of the scar Will’s eyes are glazed over. Hannibal’s eyelids flutter open and rise to his feet slowly. Will assumes that is Hannibal’s way of apologizing, none of his words would do justice anyway. Will’s fist seizes Hannibal’s shirt and he pulls his face closer to him.

“I want…” Will lets his eyes run over Hannibal’s chest as he trails off, before flicking up to meet the soft grin on his lips. “My shirt back.” Will smirks like the tease he is and lets go of the shirt. Hannibal, to his surprise, pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it to Will. Will hears the dishes clatter as they get put back into their correct homes while he pulls on his shirt.  When he turns he is met with Hannibal’s bare back; an angry, raised, and red scar is staring at him. Will’s brow furrows as he takes a silent step towards Hannibal, studying the pattern. It wasn’t a wound caused by a knife, it was caused by heat. Slight horror washes over Will’s face as he recognizes the pattern and softly lets his fingers touch the raised skin. Hannibal freezes; like a child caught playing with his dad’s gun. 

“They branded you.” Hannibal nods beneath Will’s touch. His fingers follow the pattern of the scar gently, as if it was raw.

“It’s what happens to pigs before they are off to slaughter.” Will’s jaw tightens at Hannibal’s words. He profiled that the Chesapeake Ripper saw his victims as pigs. He wonders what Hannibal had felt beneath his unbothered facade about being treated like how he treated his victims. 

“I’ve been with you for weeks, I’ve seen you naked. And it took me this long to notice.” His fingers move in a circle along the scar, guilt raging in his chest. 

“I kept you blind. I am not proud of it.”

“And you’re proud of your wrists?”

“Yes.” Will stares at Hannibal’s back, unable to gauge his expressions, his voice giving away no emotional clues. Will dips his head and presses his lips to the raised scar. “Will, you don’t have to apologize.” Will pauses at his words,  _ Hannibal **was** apologizing _ . “If anything, I should thank you.” Hannibal turns to face Will, finally hiding the scar from view. “I do not doubt my abilities to escape, I also do not doubt Mason Verger’s commitment to eating me. Alana freed me under the condition that I save you, you are the reason I am standing here whole.”

“I am not without apology.” Hannibal’s eyes shift from emptiness to interest hearing Will’s words. “You saved me and I sent you away.”

“You tried to send me away.” Will rolls his eyes at Hannibal’s correction. “We both hold apologies in our wounds, both butcher and meat. Our hands bloodied by trying to take the other's life, while also acting without reserve to rescue the other.” Hannibal laces his fingers with Will’s, one finger running over Will’s wedding band. “Apologizing for our past is a flood that will never drain. You pulled us into the water and I pulled us out, I believe we are even.” Will smiles at the familiar conversation. 


	12. Chapter 12

Abigail treads lightly through the underbrush as she bites into a hard strip of beef jerky. Her backpack full of crumbled up directions, locations where Hannibal and Will were not. Hunger pains her stomach and she gives in with another bite. She remembers the meal she was served after she found out what her dad was feeding her. He was feeding the girls, the ones she lured, to her and her mother, she was eating the flesh of what should have been herself. Abigail was not able to keep her dinner down that night, every bite tasting like blood and raw flesh. She didn’t like thinking that her dad would have eaten her as well and used every part of her; otherwise it would have been murder. 

She didn’t like thinking about what pillows he would stuff with her long dark hair, which pipes would be held together by her bones, and what meals he would make with her flesh. Abigail manages to swallow down the bite, a combination of remembering her dad and the few bites of food quieting her hunger. She was on her first package of jerky, half her bottle of water and her last pages of directions. She returns the rest of the package into her bag and digs to find the flashlight. Abigail follows her pages until she can hear the steady run of the river, one of the last rivers she had found within walking vicinity of Hannibal’s cliffside house. The sun is just starting to set and the sky is various shades of red and yellow in its dimming light. She shines her light on the ground and folds the pages back into her pocket, walking alongside the river’s edge. After a while of following the water she reaches into her pocket to look at the directions again but stops when her flashlight glints off something on the ground. 

She puts the pages away and shines the light on it, it’s blood. She crouches down and looks closely at the dark liquid. She can tell easily that an animal didn’t do this, there are no remnants of body parts or violent tracks around the area. Abigail studies the blood closely and can make out an indentation in the long grass of what was once laying there, it was a big animal. She shines the light forward and the beam catches on a trail of blood. A hunter bringing their kill back home. She abandons following the pages and instead follows beside the blood in the dwindling sunlight, until the soft glow of a cabin comes into view. She clicks off her flashlight and walks slowly towards it, calming her breaths. 

She crouches lower as she walks, studying the ground in the low light to avoid anything that would give away her location. This all depends on her having the element of surprise. Abigail looks at the cabin, it isn’t small but isn’t big either, just enough room for two people or a small family. It’s modern and built from dark wood, there is a table outside for butchering. It is still wet with blood. She looks up the staircase to the door, her family could be behind it, warm and safe. _Should I even call them family? Was my dad truly a father? If that answer is ‘no’, then what does that make Hannibal? Just another man with my blood on his hands?_

Abigail’s thoughts are cut short by the sound of an opening and closing door, she ducts behind a big, fallen tree. She peaks over the bark to see a figure standing on the cabin’s balcony, looking out at the dark woods. The person flicks on a faint porch light and they are drowned in a soft, yellow glow. Abigail practically has the wind knocked out of her, her fingers grip into the tree to stay upright.

It’s Hannibal. He’s holding a wine glass, sipping it as he looks out at the woods, admiring his new kingdom. Every muscle in Abigail’s body twitches, the survival instinct her dad grew in her was flooding back. He is just another monster she has to outlive. _Find a girl that looks like you, find a girl now, your life depends on it_ , her familiar, panicked thoughts run through her brain. _Hannibal doesn’t want another girl, he wants you_ , she reminds herself. She studies his barley lit features; the scars she didn’t remember his face holding, his hair that was un-styled and grown out, the lack of wealth attached to his clothes, and the calmness in his posture. 

The child in her wants to run to him, just as she ran to greet her dad when he would come home from work. She wants to call out his name, unsure if it would leave her lips as ‘Hannibal’ or ‘Dad’. As much as her legs burn for her to run, unsure if they want to carry her deeper into the woods or to carry up those dark steps, she freezes. _Where is Will?_

Her eyes dart rapidly over the windows in the house, looking for movement- she finds none. Her mind races with possibilities. Will could be dead, bloated with skin slipping from his bones somewhere in the water they fell into. But Abigail doubts Hannibal would leave him behind willingly, he wouldn’t let the meat spoil. Will could have left the blood trail she followed, a man desperate to escape. He could have realized the monster he was living with, missing his wife to the point of courage. But Abigail doubts Hannibal would let him escape, he wouldn’t lose the meat. Will could be inside the cabin, happy and content. 

The options weigh on her brain as Hannibal’s silhouette drinks down the rest of his wine and heads back inside the cabin. The balcony light flicks off and she watches the house descend into darkness as Hannibal walks through it, probably heading to wherever the bedroom is. Will could be chained to the bed, he could be peacefully waiting Hannibal’s return, or he could be in neat little sections in the fridge. Whatever state Will was in, she was going to find him. 

Abigail stays by the log watching the minutes click by on her watch. From the time she spent at Hannibal’s various properties she knows how little and how lightly he sleeps. He doesn’t seem to sleep because he needs to, as if he could turn that part of himself off. Whenever she would wake to get a cup of water in the middle of the night he would already be in the kitchen, making her a cup tea that would help her get back to sleep. Whenever she would sob herself awake from a nightmare he would already be sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her inquisitively. Hannibal was a monster that didn’t sleep. However, she had no idea how Hannibal would sleep if Will was next to him. 

It was clear to Abigail that Hannibal loved Will. Hannibal still loved him after being betrayed by him, Jack had shown her photos the body Hannibal had brutally bent into a heart and left for Will. Hannibal wouldn’t keep Will alive if he didn’t love him. Hannibal would keep him in the fridge. 

_“He turned himself in?_ ” _Abigail had asked Jack, bewildered by the idea of such a calculated and careful man doing so. “Why?”_

_“He said ‘I want you to know exactly where I am and where you can always find me.’ But he wasn’t talking to me, he was talking to Will.”_

How would a monster sleep when it finally had it’s treasure all to itself?

Abigail looks at the dark house, there had been no movement since Hannibal had turned the lights off. Abigail has been sitting outside the house for almost 3 hours. She had gained her ability to wait from deer hunting with her dad, hiding in their hunting blinds, waiting for the kill. Abigail stands and slowly walks towards the house, she stops in front of the steps. She bends down, unties her boots before slipping her feet out of them and putting them in her backpack. She creeps up the steps softly, careful of her weight on the wood. Abigail ascends the steps and when she is in front of the door she reaches for the handle, turning it slowly until the door opens.

Abigail stares at the barely open door; a mouth inviting her inside. She could turn back right now, run down those steps and into the woods, he would be none the wiser. But she doesn’t. She slowly opens the door the rest of the way and slips inside. Abigail’s eyes adjust to the darkness of the cabin as she shuts the door behind her as softly as she can. She slides her backpack off her shoulders and clutches it to her chest as she walks to the kitchen. She sets her backpack down against the wall and wiggles her way from her coat, the cabin toasty from a once burning fire. She places it in her backpack as she takes her boots out and pulls them on her feet. No one said the element of surprise had to be silent. She runs her hand over her back pocket, feeling her knife, and smiles at its protective presence.

Her fingers pull her scarf and beanie off, dropping them softly into the bag as well. No point in hiding anymore. She takes a few steps, aware of the soft creaks her boots draw from the wood flooring. Abigail paces around the kitchen gently before stopping at the kitchen sink and looking out the window at the dark forest.

Her anxiety has melted away, in this kitchen things were going to go her way, for once.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning- this chapter contains canon typical violence

Will’s eyelids flutter open when he thinks he hears the house creak. His eyes flick down to Hannibal, who has his head resting on Will’s chest. If Hannibal didn’t deem it a worry neither will he, he closes his eyes again.

Another creak, then another, and another. Over the days at the cabin Will got accustomed to it’s normal creaks, the spots in the flooring to avoid. This wasn’t the house settling. Will opens his eyes again and turns his head to look at his alarm clock, it was almost four in the morning. He assumes whoever actually owns the cabin wouldn’t be arriving that early and he would have heard car doors opening and closing. Will ruled out the real owners returning and the FBI; they would not be this quiet. 

Will looks at Hannibal’s relaxed features and thinks of Mason Verger. Will is sure Hannibal wronged many others, some maybe not as rich and powerful, but someone just as wronged. The house creaks again, Will recognizes the pattern as footsteps. Will worms his way out from under Hannibal and slides his flannel on over his shirt and pulls on his jeans. He looks over to meet Hannibal’s eyes, heavy with sleep. 

“I think I heard something, I’ll be back.” Hannibal nods and settles back into bed until he hears the sound of the bedside table opening. Will had found a handgun along with the hunting rifles and figured if Hannibal was sleeping with a knife beside him then he would sleep with a gun. Will isn’t sure if he keeps the gun to use against intruders or Hannibal. “Stay here, please.” Hannibal sits up in bed, the sleep stripped away from his features and replaced with cold seriousness. Will pulls the gun out of the drawer and checks the bullets. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I just want to check.” Will isn’t sure if he is reassuring Hannibal or himself. 

Will slips out the bedroom with his gun, trying to remember the right form to use while holding it. The house is as dark as Hannibal left it, he makes his way down the hallway into the living room. The room is still warm from the fire that had been burning that night, Will had put it out before retiring to bed. Hannibal had joined him a little later, smelling and tasting like wine. 

Will’s eyes flick over the room, nothing seems out of place, even the hunting rifle he left leaning against the wall is untouched. When Will turns to scan the kitchen he freezes, his finger clicking the safety on before his eyes fully register what he is seeing, what he thinks he is seeing. 

A figure with long dark hair is looking out the window, their back to him. Will holds the gun tight, his finger far away from the trigger. His entire body starts to shake when the figure turns around. It’s Abigail. She doesn’t look the way he saw her in the church, or at the cliff, or in the woods. Her hair is pulled away from her face and Will can faintly see scar tissue from where her ear once was, the ear he vomited into his sink. His eyes focus next on her neck, which isn’t being hidden by a scarf, a violent scar is across her whole throat. 

Will has to clench his jaw to keep it from shaking, he hasn’t ever envisioned her like this. Abigail hasn’t said anything, simply standing in their kitchen, smiling at him. Every fiber of his being wants to believe this is her, the real her, the alive her. But he remembers the soul shattering feeling of watching her throat slit open by an unseen knife, watching her vanish before his eyes and leaving him alone. He can’t let that happen again. Abigail’s eyes leave his own to stare at the air beside him, Will turns to see Hannibal standing next to him.

His face is drained of color and he stares at her, stunned and confused. Will watches his features convey the wheels in his mind turning, a raw glimpse behind his mask. Will can’t tell for certain in the low light, but he thinks he can see Hannibal’s eyes filling with tears. Either they are in a shared delusion or she is real; Will isn’t sure which one will hurt the most. 

“Abigail.” Hannibal’s voice is gentle and quiet. He is saying it to himself, not her. Will tosses his gun onto the table and walks to her, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her. Abigail’s body is warm and he can feel her heart beating; it pushes him over the edge. Tears fall through his eyelashes and he doesn’t stop them, he holds her like he should have held her that night. Will pulls away from her so he can, once again, run his eyes over her. 

“You found us.” Is all Will can say, all his potential words tangle together and he cannot separate them. He has so much to say to her, but his tongue fails to say them. “How?” 

“I followed the water.” Abigail smiles looking at Will, tears brim in her eyes as well. “I knew if I could find the right water, I could find you, both of you. I used the crime scene photos Jack showed me to figure out it was water I needed.” Will face twists with confusion, rage, and then understanding. 

“Jack knows you are alive.” 

“Of course, who do you think is my guardian now?” Abigail studies Will’s face in the moonlight, looking at the scars he had acquired since the last time she saw him. “He showed me photos of your wedding, you looked very handsome.”

“Why didn’t…” Will has to clear his throat before he continues speaking, swallowing down emotions. “Why didn’t he tell me?” 

“He figured if I died you would go after Hannibal, and you did. And he figured I wouldn’t be safe even after Hannibal was in jail and, he was right.” She watches Will’s face scrunch with confusion. “Hannibal made a threat against Alana and her family. That she was meant to die in his kitchen, Alana took it seriously enough to flee.” Will’s jaw clenches, he files that information away for a future fight.

A soft clink breaks Will’s eye contact with Abigail to watch Hannibal place the knife he had kept on his bedside table beside Will’s gun. He assumes he had grabbed it to check on Will after seeing Will take his own weapon.

Will watches Hannibal’s every movement, ready to push Abigail behind him. It didn’t matter that Will didn’t have his gun, he would beat Hannibal to death with his bare hands before him could kill Abigail again. He wasn’t going to let Hannibal take her away, not another time.

* * *

Abigail's eyes flick from the knife on the table back to Hannibal. She can see Will searching her eyes for fear, she sees the fear he hopes to find reflected in his own eyes. Abigail takes a step away from Will’s protective arms, walking closer to Hannibal. 

“Hi Dad.” She says softly, which prompts a smile and a single tear to break free from Hannibal’s lashes. 

“Hello Abigail.” She studies him, his emotions are no longer suppressed under a calm facade. He is surprised to see her. Seeing that emotion on his face so freely feels like a knife turning inside her, cutting her open more savagely than his actual knife did. Abigail swallows down the pain that revelation brings her. 

“They told me in the hospital that you knew just how to cut me, that it was surgical. Just like you did with Will, they said you didn’t want us to die. But I can tell by the look on your face you never expected to see me again. You only intended for Will to live.” Abigail takes another step towards Hannibal, her pocket knife burning against her skin.  _ I could do it, I can do it,  _ is all she can think. She hasn’t gutted anyone in years, but her muscle memory will remember. It had remembered the last time she stabbed someone. 

“You left me to die. You wanted me to die, at least some part of you did.” Abigail continues as she stares him down. The same stare she gave him when she allowed him to know she knew he was the man on the phone; the last time she was more powerful than him. “Where is that part of you now? What part am I looking at? Are you going to finish the job my dad couldn’t, the job you couldn’t?” Her eyes fall to Will’s gun that is sitting on the kitchen table, it will be exactly the same. Maybe time will reverse and the teacup can finally gather itself. When Will presses his hand to her bleeding neck she will look over to see her dad, bleeding out from multiple bullet wounds. She will be back in her yellow kitchen, she can try again, this time it will be different. “Are we gonna reenact the crime?”

“Who do you want to be, Abigail?” Hannibal looks down at her curiously. 

“I’ll be my dad.” She whispers. Her hand is so smooth and so quick neither men register what she is doing before it’s too late. The barely audible click of the opening knife echoes throughout the silent kitchen. She places her hand on Hannibal’s shoulder, her other hand pressing the tip of the knife against his side, just deep enough to trickle blood from his skin. “I’ll be you.” 

Hannibal doesn’t register the pain, he simply looks down at her captivated. Abigail is shaking, shaking like her first kill all over again. Her hand tries to dig the knife deeper into Hannibal, it doesn’t budge. Her lip is quivering with shaky breaths and her eyes clench shut before she pulls the knife from Hannibal's body. She presses her forehead into his chest, inhaling his somewhat different but familiar scent. She can feel Hannibal’s hand softly stroking her hair, petting her. 

Abigail’s body shakes in his arms and she lets him hold her, she lets him think she is weak. Her eyes snap open as her face stays buried in his chest, her face shakes with sobs but her eyes stay dry and calculated. She wraps her arm around Hannibal's neck, pulling him closer.  Then, just as smooth as before, she stabs. Deeply.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning- this chapter contains canon typical violence

The gasp that is forced from Hannibal’s lips is not one of pain, it’s one of pure surprise. She digs the knife deeper into his side until she can no longer see the blade, forcing the bottom of the handle into the wound. Hannibal’s blood spills onto a hungry kitchen floor, finally getting the food it’s craved for- not Abigail’s blood, not Will’s blood, but Hannibal’s. 

Her hand wants her to dig the blade to the left, hard and rough, just as Hannibal did with Will. Her hand wants her to jerk the blade up, just as she did with Nick Boyle. It wants her to spill his organs out onto the floor, it wants her to gut him. Abigail jerks the blade out unceremoniously, she had treated deers kinder. She pushes him away and Hannibal stumbles a couple feet backwards, hand clasped over his bleeding wound. 

Will takes a step towards Hannibal, having watched the whole ordeal wide-eyed. He hadn’t grabbed his gun. Hannibal’s eyes flick to meet Will’s, his gaze stopping Will in his tracks. Hannibal’s eyes then land on Abigail, filling with an emotion that she can only describe as pride. The same pride her Dad’s eyes were overflowing with the first time she perfectly gutted a deer. Hannibal pulls his hand back from his wound, watching his blood spill out before clasping his hand over it again, his eyes fixate back on Abigail. 

“I miscalculated the amount of love you hold for me, Abigail.” Hannibal says as he looks at her.

“My love isn’t what you miscalculated,” Abigail begins, staring into his bright eyes. “It was my pain.”

“God is incapable of understanding the strength taken to endure the pain of humanity. I cannot imagine how jealous he would be of you. And I am incapable of fully expressing how proud of you I am.” Abigail tosses her bloody knife onto the kitchen table, right beside Will’s gun and Hannibal’s knife. Walking to him and letting him wrap his arms around her for a second time. He forgoes holding his wound closed to hold her with both arms. Abigail rests her head against his shoulder and Hannibal, in turn, rests his head against hers.

“Nothing has survived me before, words can never define my pride for you.” He whispers as he takes Abigail's head in his hands. Hannibal runs his eyes over what he’s done to her; her ear, her neck, and everything else that didn’t leave a physical scar. Hearing the floorboards creak she turns her head the best she can to watch Will walk back into the kitchen, carrying what must be a med kit. 

“Will you at least let me patch your wound?” Will looks over at the both of them, then the ever growing puddle of blood on the floor. Hannibal moves Abigail’s head back to face him, her eyes meet the inquisitive glint of his.

“Well?” He’s giving her the choice. 

“If I wanted you dead I would have gutted you.” She says simply. “I can’t lose another Dad.” Hannibal smiles down at her and plants a soft kiss to her forehead. He lets go of her and sits down at their kitchen table. Will pulls Hannibal’s bloody shirt over his head and starts to stop the bleeding. 

“You tending to my wounds is long overdue.” Hannibal says fondly as Will presses a cloth to the stab wound, his dark blood consuming the white fabric. There’s an energy between them that she has seen this open before. The same energy that bubbled brutally under the surface the night she was supposed to die; love. “However I always assumed the wounds you would be tending to would be caused by your own hand.” Hannibal’s eyes drift from Will over to Abigail. “This is unexpected.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Hannibal smiles hearing his own words leave Abigail’s tongue and Abigail beams under his proud gaze. 

“I’m going to have to move you to our bedroom,” Will’s voice snaps both Abigail and Hannibal out of their transfixion on each other. “So you can rest.”

“I can rest here.”

“Hannibal.” Will says firmly as he reaches into their med kit, pulling out a small vial and a needle. As Abigail looks at the medicine she remembers when Hannibal slipped her into a drug induced sleep and she woke up without her ear. He told her what he was going to do to her, in extreme detail. So that when Hannibal loomed over her with a scalpel through her fading vision, she wasn’t scared. “Either you give yourself the shot or I do.”

“I don’t get a choice in this matter, do I?”

“You’ve given me drugs without my choice.” Abigail smiles listening to their banter. They aren’t fighting out of anger but she can hear the slight irritation in their voices, the irritation that comes from love. Hannibal studies Will’s face as he takes the needle from him, stabbing it into the vial to let the medicine fill it. Hannibal’s eyes fall to Abigail, the needle hovering over his skin “She will be here when you wake.” Will assures him. His eyes lock with Abigail’s, they beg her to agree with him.

“It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.” She shrugs her shoulders, the answer is enough to settle Hannibal’s worry and he sinks the needle into his skin, plunging the medicine inside of himself. 

“Thank you.” Will says, the words both to Hannibal and Abigail. Will helps Hannibal stand and leads him through their cabin, towards where their bedroom must be.

Abigail, for once, got the chance to study the aftermath of the kitchen. Her gaze falls to the large blood pool on the dark wood, she could faintly make out her reflection. Abigail looks around the room waiting for Will to return, she flicks on a light and her eyes land on the front door. A wickedness inside her tells her to run, she could bolt down those steps and flee into the forest. Leaving Hannibal behind, bloody and desperate, is tempting. Leaving Will behind, ripping herself from him again, isn’t tempting. 

She doesn’t want to think about what Hannibal would do to Will if she vanished, how he would take it out on him. Her eyes, against her better judgment, land on the fridge.


	15. Chapter 15

Will closes the door to their bedroom and walks back into their kitchen. He half expects Abigail to be gone, half expects to look at his hands and see Hannibal’s blood, but not from tending to his wound. He finds Abigail sitting at their kitchen table, a small bowl of cut up cucumbers is sitting in front of her that used to be in their fridge. Will can’t help but smile at the image of Abigail rummaging through their fridge, unsure if she was looking out of curiosity or true hunger. 

“If you’re hungry I can make something for you.” Will walks over as she takes a bite, studying her features. 

“I’m okay, thank you.” Will sits down in the chair next to her, unable to stop himself from staring at her face. Tears tug at him again and he can’t stop them. “Abigail, I’m…” He clears his throat, tears falling down his face. “I’m so sorry, for everything. I shouldn’t have...I should have stopped…” 

He can’t get the words out, seeing the scar Hannibal left on her neck is painful enough. He still remembers the flecks of her blood hitting his skin, he has to stop his hands from wiping them away. 

“You couldn’t have stopped him.” She says calmly, pushing the bowl away as she studies the blood under her fingernails. “You could barely move.” He takes hold of one of her hands, she doesn’t slip through him like water this time, she is grounded. “I couldn’t have even stopped him. We knew what he wanted, Hannibal always gets what he wants.” Will feels a wave of guilt rush back to him, how can he claim to love Abigail while living with the man that killed her?

“I keep expecting you to vanish.” His words come out in a whisper. “You haunted me, Abigail, even before he killed you. Ever since your kitchen, you haunted me. I took you with me in my mind when I searched for Hannibal, when I had to let you go I felt as guilty of your death as Hannibal is.” Abigail eyebrows furrow with interest, listening to his words. 

“You can’t blame yourself for his knife. I know that blame all too well.” Abigail squeezes his hand softly, another reminder of her being real. “You haunted me as well.” 

“How?” Will almost wants to apologize, he knows how horrifying it is to be haunted. 

“Because I didn’t help you.”

“Abigail, you said that-”

“I just let you bleed.” She interrupts him. “Even as your life drained you still tried to stop my bleeding.” Tears break from her eyes, training down her face. “Just like the first time. And I just let you bleed.” Her glossy eyes finally meet his. “I’m sorry.” Will stands and pulls her to her feet, holding her in an embrace. 

“I forgive you.” Will says as he holds her close. It is something he shouldn't forgive her for, because there is nothing to forgive. “Do you forgive me?” Abigail looks up at him, studying his expression. 

“For loving Hannibal?” Will nods. “I can’t blame you for it. I still love him, I loved him as he cut me. And I knew he loved me when he did it, just like my dad.” Will nods again and Abigail rests her head back on his chest. 

“There is a second bedroom, would you feel safe living here with us?”

“You mean living with Hannibal?” She doesn’t wait for Will to confirm her question. “Yes.” She raises her head to look at him again. “Because he now knows that I wouldn’t go without a fight.” Will smiles at her words and kisses her forehead softly. “Can you teach me how to fish? Hannibal said you always wanted to.”

“Of course.” Will’s smile widens at the chance to live out the fantasy he thought he would never get the chance to. Behind Abigail’s back he tugs his wedding band off his finger and slides it into his pocket when he pulls away from her. “How about tomorrow?” He asks as Abigail grabs what Will assumes is her bag, before leading her down the hallway to what is now her bedroom. 

“Sounds good.” Her smile is bright in the darkness and she sets her pocket knife on the bedside table, his smile grows as she does so. “Goodnight Dad.” 

“Goodnight Abigail, sleep well.” He closes the door softly. Will stands in the hallway, between Abigail’s bedroom and his and Hannibal’s bedroom. He is overcome with such profound happiness that it shakes tears from him once again, he stands there for what feels like hours. The partial void in himself was filled by Hannibal and now having Abigail back in his life filled the rest of it. Will can’t remember the last time he felt this whole. He opens the door and heads into their bedroom. His eyes land on Hannibal, bandaged and peaceful, sleeping in their bed. Will undresses to his shirt and boxers and slides into bed beside him

Will’s eyes land on his crumpled up jeans on the floor that hold his wedding band, he runs his finger over the indentation that shows where it once was. Will had thought numerous times about taking it off while he was fishing, tossing it into the water, and leaving it behind. Until now it didn’t feel right not to wear it, even though he was in bed with someone else. He makes a mental note to bring it with him when he finally teaches Abigail how to fish, to let it finally sink to the bottom of that river. 

Will turns to look at Hannibal, to look past him at their slightly open door, being able to see a sliver of Abigail’s closed door. He pulls the covers around both of them and looks one last time at his family before closing his eyes. He slips asleep wondering what Hannibal’s expression will be when he notices that his wedding band is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! It was fun to write my version of season four.


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